Time Marches On
by thegreyhorse21
Summary: I tried to write this so that it seemed like an actual episode of House. Its 3rd person from everyone's point of view. It has a ship, but I don't really want to say what it is because its kind of a suprise in the plot. You've probably caught on by now.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to David Shore. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.**

Staring apathetically at the door labeled 'Exam Room One', the tall figure reached into his pocket and produced a bottle of medical pills. Shaking them as though it served some kind of purpose, he removed the lid with a soft _pop_. Dumping the contents into his hand, he chose one particular white pill, examined it, and then popped it into his mouth. His tongue lulled over the tablet before swallowing it dry. Replacing the bottle, and grasping a blue file under his arm, he entered the room.

"Patient presents with back and neck pain. Mr.," he paused a moment to look at the file "Thomson." He completed, finding the patient's name on the upper corner of the blue folder. Finally looking up to observe the patient, he let his sapphire eyes examine every inch of him. It was routine, really, looking for anything and everything that could give him a clue to a patient's condition. Here in the clinic, it was not really necessary to inspect the patient so fully, as most of them were idiots anyway. Of course, with his patients, he could diagnose them without even looking at them. However, visual presentations of certain symptoms, he would admit, could aid in the solving of the puzzle.

The man was tall; and attractive for that matter. His hair was dark, and he had a dark skin tone. Of Italian decent, the doctor was sure. He reserved his snide comments for later, however. The man wore a plaid shirt with jeans. His expression was almost eager as he stood up from the examination table and walked eagerly toward the doctor.

"Dr. House! Pleasure to meet you," He extended his hand to shake, and House simply stared down at it as though he was offering him a piece of trash. The man let it fall to his side, his face falling.

"I assume your back doesn't hurt _that_ badly then? Nice sticker. You get that from Wal-Mart?" He pointed to a badge that the man sported on his breast. It read ACP, circled in orange, black, and yellow colorings.

"I'm head of the ACP, that is, the African Child Protection. Ever heard-?"

"No," House stated simply. He did not want to deal with the tedious conversation that this man would have with himself. Examining the way the patient was standing, he assumed that the patient had merely slept the wrong way, causing the back and neck pain.

"Well I am conducting a sort of experiment, you know? My whole family, we are living like the African children. Eating little. Sleeping on the hard ground. Working-,"

"Brains and brawn do not come in a pair do they?" House asked, cutting the man off yet again. It was stupid enough that he was making his whole family live like poor African children, but he could not even decipher that his back pain was caused by the hard ground he was so intelligently sleeping on. "Go home. Take some Ibuprofen. Have sex with your wife on a nice, comfy mattress."

"My wife left me," said the man, looking a bit startled.

"I can't _imagine_ why! Your dog, then. Assuming it hasn't left you too." With that he limped swiftly out of the room, and the door clicked behind him.

Outside he leaned his head against the wall and sighed. Clinic hours were not something he enjoyed. In fact they were so far from enjoyable, it was like day and night. The clock across from him on the wall read 4:45. It was close enough to two hours that he had been working the clinic, he decided. He picked up the cane he had leaned against the wall, and twirled it absent-mindedly. After a moment, he stepped away from the wall and walked to the exit.

"Five o'clock, Dr. House signs out," He reported in a mockingly cheerful voice.

"Its only quarter of. You have a patient-," the receptionist began, but the glass doors had already swung shut.

----

Lisa Cuddy ran a shaky hand through her dark, curly hair. Clearly stressed, she examined the files and papers on her desk. She had far too much to do, and she really wanted to get home. Sitting in her chair, she opened a drawer and dug through several papers. At long last, she found the one she was searching for. Tossing it on her desk, she began jotting down words on a piece of yellow paper. As she finished, she ripped the paper from the pad it was bound to, and stood up to leave. She would finish the rest of the paperwork when she arrived in the morning.

As she walked briskly to her office door, the phone rang. She planned to ignore it, but knew she would feel guilty if it were important. She sighed and walked over to the phone, grasping the receiver in her left hand. She placed it by her ear and stared expectantly at the door.

"Hello?" She asked rather sharply.

"Lisa. It's Stacy. I need to talk to you."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to David Shore. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.**

_Last chapter: _

_As she walked briskly to her office door, the phone rang. She planned to ignore it, but knew she would feel guilty if it were important. She sighed and walked over to the phone, grasping the receiver in her left hand. She placed it by her ear and stared expectantly at the door. _

_"Hello?" She asked rather sharply. _

_"Lisa. It's Stacy. I need to talk to you."_

----

Stacy Warner paced around her kitchen, twirling the coiled phone chord in her fingers. What would she say? They hadn't heard from her in almost a year. Perhaps it had been better that way for them. For _him_. That was who her thoughts were directed to, almost all the time. She could not help but pray every time her phone rang that she might hear his voice, that she might see him again. She had gotten over the crying now, and slowly she was getting better at controlling her thoughts about him. She would _never_ be over him, but she could pretend. Mark had noticed her sadness at first, it was hard to miss. He hardly questioned, though. He seemed happy enough to have Stacy back.

She planned to just keep getting by, to get over it eventually. Mark would keep her happy enough. She felt guilty thinking that she was deceiving him, making him think that it was _she_ that had chosen him over Greg. The thought of his name…oh God would it ever end? Mark was walking now, though rehab continued for several more weeks. He did everything he could for her, almost to prove that he was worth her love. Stacy felt horrible when it occurred to her that no matter what he did, he would never be what she needed. As she thought, she wondered if it was really fair to either of them. She was lying about loving him and only him, and she was unhappy being with him so far from Greg.

'_Hello?' _came the voice over the receiver. She was happy to hear Lisa's voice; it had been so long since they had spoken.

"Lisa. It's Stacy. I need to talk to you." The words spouted from her lips before she could stop them. What was she going to say? She had been stupid. She shouldn't have ever called Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. At the same time, she realized that it was her only option.

"Stacy…wow, what can I do for you?" Cuddy's usual calm, business-like demeanor faltered momentarily as she was taken aback by the voice that had responded. When Stacy felt confident enough to continue, she gathered her breath, and released it with a small sigh.

"Lisa, its Mark. His rehab was going so well and…then he started getting weird. We thought it was a bug, but then he couldn't sleep. He started loosing weight and getting really weak. The doctors we've seen suggested a sleep aid, but I _know_ there is something else wrong. I…I…"

"You want House to see him," Cuddy finished unnecessarily. Her tones had become kind and understanding. She knew how hard it was for Stacy to do this. When Mark was diagnosed with AIP a while back, it had been House that had diagnosed and treated him. That had lead to their affair, and she was afraid of what might come out of seeing him again. Cuddy knew Stacy felt like she had no other choice, and she trusted House. It was like déjà vu really, but this time there was more history between the two than before.

"I do…but…but…I don't know what I want to do." A sob escaped her lips, and she bit it back. Mark would be back from his rehab soon, and she did not want him to see her like this.

"It's your choice Stacy," Cuddy said softly. She knew she wasn't being much help, but she knew that if Stacy was dependant on her and Wilson for all the answers, she would struggle here with House. Cuddy didn't know what she should do, either. It seemed the only real choice Stacy had, both to confront her feelings and to treat Mark, was to come to Princeton-Plainsboro. Cuddy feared, however, that Stacy and House were far from being over each other, and bringing them together again would easily damage the wounds that had slowly started to heal.

"Don't…don't tell him it's us…don't tell him it's me." Stacy's voice shook. She hoped she was making the right decision. Her stomach turned in circles. She wasn't ready for this again…

"Stacy…he'll find out it's you. Shockingly he usually ends up seeing his patients at some point or another."

"I know…I know. I just want him to take the case." She closed her eyes and spread her fingers across her forehead, breathing deeply.

"Okay Stacy. I'm…sorry." Cuddy didn't know why she said she was sorry. Maybe it was the fact that she complained about simple paperwork, while Stacy was caught between the health of her husband and the fear of the fire that burned between her and House. The fact that she had to face that again. It didn't seem fair or right, and yet, it was to be. She hung up the phone with a click. Realizing that she had been in a hurry to get home before, she left her office, the glass door swinging shut behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to ** **David** **Shore****. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.**

_Last Chapter:_ _"I know…I know. I just want him to take the case." She closed her eyes and spread her fingers across her forehead, breathing deeply. _

_"Okay Stacy. I'm…sorry." Cuddy didn't know why she said she was sorry. Maybe it was the fact that she complained about simple paperwork, while Stacy was caught between the health of her husband and the fear of the fire that burned between her and House. The fact that she had to face that again. It didn't seem fair or right, and yet, it was to be. She hung up the phone with a click. Realizing that she had been in a hurry to get home before, she left her office, the glass door swinging shut behind her. _

----

"Differential diagnosis for a sleepy, skinny guy," mused House allowed as he walked into the room. Making his way to the coffee counter, he tossed a blue file on the table.

"Boring!" Announced Foreman, clearly uninterested in what the blue file contained. They had seen all of House's creative introductions to his cases. He easily discovered what House was saying and responded with his lack of interest. "He's probably just stressed. Give the guy a sleep aid and send him home."

"Doctors prescribed a sleep aid. Didn't work." House said, smirking at Foreman's look of confusion.

"Depression could cause lack of sleep, weight loss, weakness," stated Cameron. She had her hair knotted behind her neck, her eyes beaming out from beneath her bangs. She looked up at House from the table as he considered her diagnosis.

"I like it. Go talk to him. See if he's feelin' blue. Patient history is probably a good place to start." With that Cameron, Chase, and Foreman left the room to gather a patient history. On her way out Cameron grasped the file that House had tossed carelessly on the table. Walking down the hallway, she examined the papers. She stopped in her tracks and stared, dumbfounded, at the name printed on the top of the file.

"What?" questioned Chase, now noticing that Cameron was no longer beside them.

"It…there's…no. This must be a mistake," she stammered, looking up at them.

"Cameron, what is it?" Foreman insisted in an irritated sort of tone.

"This file…the name…it says Mark Warner."

----

"You've given us the wrong patient file," announced Cameron, marching into Cuddy's office.

Cuddy looked alarmed for a moment, before realizing what Cameron was talking about. Her expression softened, and Cameron noticed immediately. This wasn't the wrong file at all.

"He doesn't know! You've got to tell him. Haven't you learned _anything_ from the other times that you lied to him?" Cameron's voice raced through her words as she screamed angrily at Cuddy. She was, of course, referring to the time that Cuddy and Wilson had lied to House about one of his patients. Cuddy had refused to let him use his treatment, said he needed to learn some humility. Then she had used his treatment behind his back, and it had worked. They didn't tell House, however, and it had affected him badly. Cameron could see no good coming from lying to him again.

"Cameron…listen. Stacy-" Cuddy began.

"No. Either you go up there and tell him right now, or I will. He doesn't deserve to have to go through this again." Cameron glared angrily at her, awaiting some sort of response.

Cuddy looked at Cameron, clearly surprised by her outburst. It wasn't the first time that the young Immunologist had chided her and Wilson about lying to House, but she had never seen her quite so angry about it before.

"You have feelings for him, don't you? That's why you are so angry…Stacy is here, and you thought she was finally out of your way. If House knows, maybe it's early enough that he will refuse to take the case. If he finds out too late though…it could be déjà vu all over again. Except this time, maybe he won't make her leave. Maybe you'll lose for real."

Cameron simply glared, for what seemed eternity. Finally, she spoke her departing words in a low, threatening tone. "You tell him today, or I will make sure he doesn't take Mark's case."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Cuddy asked, returning the same angry tone. By the time she had questioned, however, the glass door to her office had already swung shut. Cameron was storming angrily down the hallway toward the stairs.

----

"James?"

"Come in." Answered Oncologist James Wilson, looking up from his desk. "Stacy?" He stood up in surprise, and walked quickly around his desk and over to her. They embraced; a friendly gesture and way of greeting one another. "What are you doing here?" he questioned her curiously.

"I'm here because…Mark…Mark's sick again," she finished, hating to remind herself of Mark's illness. "I would have called you…but I didn't want you to say anything to Greg-".

"He doesn't know you're here!" Wilson exclaimed, almost angry.

"No…no I was afraid he wouldn't take the case." She admitted sheepishly.

"Oh Stacy…" Wilson ran a hand through his hair. "What are we going to do? You have to tell him."

"I know, I know…I just…I don't know how to face him again-"

"He's been screwed up since he sent you off, Stacy. He's not ready to see you again…I don't know if there is anything left of him to break."

Stacy lowered her head, clearly hurt by Wilson's words. He knew that he had been too harsh as soon as he had finished, but it was the truth. If House saw Stacy again now, would he be able to handle it? Wilson saw very little keeping him from limping off the roof of the hospital. "There's something you should know. He…he was shot, not long ago."

Stacy gasped immediately, watching Wilson's expression for some sign that he was lying…trying to trick her…something to tell her it wasn't true. When she saw nothing, she had to choke back tears that had welled up in her eyes. "Is he-".

"He's fine. Actually, for a while he was better than fine. Cuddy used Ketamine, that is, put him a chemically induced coma. It basically rebooted him, and it had erased his leg pain. He would run here, 8 miles…just because he could. It came back though…and now…now he's just like he always was. Cane and all."

"Who-".

"They don't know. They never found the guy. Maybe they never will."

Stacy ran her hand behind her neck nervously, glancing outside Wilson's window. "How do I tell him? I…I want to see him again…James. I really do."

"I don't know…I really don't."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to David** **Shore. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.**

_Last Chapter: "They don't know. They never found the guy. Maybe they never will."_

_Stacy ran her hand behind her neck nervously, glancing outside Wilson's window. "How do I tell him? I…I want to see him again…James. I really do."_

"_I don't know…I really don't."_

----

"So she didn't tell him she was bringing Mark back here?" Foreman asked, directing his question to Cameron.

"No. She wants him to take the case, and she's afraid he won't if he knows its her," she finished, still rather irritable from her argument with Cuddy.

"You don't want her here, do you?" questioned Chase, a sly grin on his face. They all knew of Cameron's feeling's for House, but it was rarely mentioned. Chase found it rather funny that she had competition yet again from Stacy. He looked to her from across the table.

"I think it's unfair to keep this from him. He deserves to know-" she was cut off by the entrance of House himself. He looked to her, his brows raised.

"And who deserves to know what?" he asked Cameron pointedly.

"Nothing," she sighed, clearly unable to overcome Cuddy's wishes. House looked from her to Chase and Foreman. Both nodded, and, curious, House turned from them to face the white board.

"So its not depression," he said, more of a statement than a question.

"No. He wasn't exactly happy, but he's not depressed," confirmed Foreman. He watched as House scrawled the words _'insomnia'_, _'weakness'_, and _'weight loss'_.

"Could be a thyroid condition," Chase contributed.

Cameron sighed and looked up. Hiding the irritability in her voice, she spoke her thoughts. "Could be autoimmune. If the body's own defenses were attacking his body, it could lead to those symptoms."

"What's your problem?" House chiding, seeing right through her attempt to hide her petulance.

"Nothing. Isn't this about the patient?" she snapped.

"Fine, go run the blood tests for the thyroid condition, and Cameron, go…do whatever you wanted to do. Foreman, go eat lunch or something."

Cameron stood up, and didn't bother to correct him on her interpretation of a diagnosis. She was relieved to get out of the office, sick of lying to him.

House stared at the white board. He added the words _'thyroid?' _and _'autoimmune'_ to it, before limping over to his office. He grasped the ball, and tossed it up against the wall.

----

"We've got to tell him. Someone does." Wilson and Cuddy sat in Cuddy's office. Cuddy shuffled through papers on her desk, while Wilson made himself comfortable on a chair by the door.

"And how exactly should we do that? He pined for five years before she came back. He suffered again when he sent her off. He's still suffering for God's sake! Putting him in this situation again could literally kill him." Wilson chided Cuddy on her remark. He knew she was right, that he was going to find out eventually. He couldn't bring himself to let House go through this again so soon, though.

"He's going to find out, and that's going to be a lot worse than if we tell him," Cuddy responded, feeling defeated. She sighed and looked out the door at her hospital's lobby.

"He doesn't need to know yet. It can _only_ hurt him now. He needs time-" Wilson found himself unable to finish, as House entered the room, limping over to Cuddy's desk.

"What are you gossiping about? Have you heard the latest on Kevin in bookkeeping? I heard he had an affair with one of the nurses." House strode across the room, and took a seat next to Wilson.

"We were discussing a matter which is none of your business. You, for some reason, can't figure that out," Cuddy invented, glancing at Wilson. The subtle hints went ignored by House, for now, but not unnoticed. Instead he walked over to Cuddy, placing a hand on her stomach.

"Don't be anal like your mommy. The world can't take another one of her." Cuddy rolled her eyes, used to the snide comments about her being pregnant. He turned to Wilson, spinning his cane between his fingers. "So, what are you lying to me about this time?"

"Nothing!" shouted Cuddy and Wilson. House raised his brow, clearly surprised by their reaction. It was then that the doors swung open, and in walked Stacy Warner.

House gripped his cane tightly, and strode to the exit without a word.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to David** **Shore. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.**

_Last Chapter: "Don't be anal like your mommy. The world can't take another one of her." Cuddy rolled her eyes, used to the snide comments about her being pregnant. He turned to Wilson, spinning his cane between his fingers. "So, what are you lying to me about this time?"_

"_Nothing!" shouted Cuddy and Wilson. House raised his brow, clearly surprised by their reaction. It was then that the doors swung open, and in walked Stacy Warner._

_House gripped his cane tightly, and strode to the exit without a word._

----

"Greg…wait…" Stacy pleaded, gripping his arm. He turned to face her, reading her pleading expression. A million thoughts raced through his mind at that very moment. Her eyes, close to tears, studied him, and he saw what he could only define as his reflection…with so much meaning behind them. He studied every inch of her face, he cheeks, her lips that had met his in Baltimore less than a year ago. She didn't look as bright as she did then, she looked as though she had been mourning for a long time. Guiltily he looked down and away from her. He was not ready for this again. He felt the stares of Cuddy and Wilson, but he did not let them read what he felt. He did not know himself what he felt, and that was nearly unheard of.

Stacy, suprising herself, was bold enough to stop him. She met his gaze, neither hard and cruel nor soft and comforting. Their perfect blue color was unreadable, and she was nervous to discover what in his mind he may be assessing. At the same time, she couldn't bring herself to look away from his brilliant blue eyes, his handsome features, his untamed hair, his unshaven face… he stirred up something inside her that she could not control, and it fluttered within her as he looked away. He could read her, but there was something he had found. Deep down Stacy knew that he could see her sadness, her need to see him, her desire to touch him. Realizing she still held his arm, she let go slowly, watching him as he watched the ground. "Greg…Greg its Mark. I don't know what's wrong with him. I didn't know what else to do…" She trailed off, hoping that he had something to say.

Cuddy shifted nervously at Wilson, who exchanged her gaze. They both studied House, waiting for a response to her feeble explanation.

"Fine," he stated calmly, and made his way to exit the office.

"Fine? That's all?" Stacy questioned, sounding panicked. She stood in front of him in attempt to block his exit.

House slid past her and pushed open the door, glancing at her as he stepped through it. "Yeah," he said simply in response to her question, and then he was gone.

----

Wilson pushed through the door that lead to the roof. He had little difficulty locating his friend, who sat on the brick wall by the door. He was staring off at the dusking sky, clearly pondering the recent encounter.

"She's not here because she want's to make you miserable. She's here because she needs you." Wilson left the statement open for House to interpret any way he wished, as most interpretations were true. She needed him to cure Mark, and she needed him because without him she was nothing.

"She didn't call."

"She was afraid you wouldn't take the case. She knows you. You nearly refused last time he was sick."

"There are other doctors."

"She trusts _you_."

House took a breath, gazing at the stars that were hazily beginning to appear. He turned to face Wilson, seeing his face full of concern. He didn't know what to think. Was he happy? Angry? Perhaps now all that he could express was confusion. He had spent so much time trying to heal, and old wounds were suddenly ripped open again. Old scars began to bleed.

"I know this is hard for you. It's harder for her. Please try and understand that. Think of someone else for once. Treat them like any of your other patients. Cure the guy, and they'll leave. There'll be as little pain involved as possible."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"How do you feel about it then?"

"I don't know…but there's a dying guy downstairs. Better get to it." Without another word he left, leaving Wilson behind him.

Wilson sighed, knowing that there was no way that this was going to be easy. He couldn't treat them like a regular patient, no matter how hard he tried. Stacy would not be able to keep from seeing him, she seemed to have little control of herself when she was around House. Perhaps this time things would go better. Somehow, Wilson did not feel confident that would be the case.

----

"So, does he plan to be a complete ass as usual? I assume being nice would be too hard for him to figure out." Mark laid in a hospital bed, clearly uninterested in being at Princeton-Plainsboro. "You told me I wouldn't have to see _him!_"

Stacy sighed, noticing that recently Mark's irritability had returned. She didn't know if it was a symptom, or if Mark was resentful of her for having to be here. "He is the only one I trust with your life."

"Who said my life was at stake? I needed a little rest from work and stress. I'll be fine. I don't need to be here with him again. I don't need _you_ to be here with him again."

Deep down Stacy knew that he had a reason to be worried. He had almost lost her once, and now it seemed as though the vicious cycle continued. She bent down to kiss him on the cheek, and then sat on his bed and gazed at the newly lit stars. She knew Greg would see them too, she knew he was on the roof. This time she did not plan to follow, however. She needed to get Mark well, and then she needed to leave this place. Otherwise, who knew what trouble might arise?


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to David** **Shore. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.**

_Last Chapter: Deep down Stacy knew that he had a reason to be worried. He had almost lost her once, and now it seemed as though the vicious cycle continued. She bent down to kiss him on the cheek, and then sat on his bed and gazed at the newly lit stars. She knew Greg would see them too, she knew he was on the roof. This time she did not plan to follow, however. She needed to get Mark well, and then she needed to leave this place. Otherwise, who knew what trouble might arise?_

----

House had spent little time sleeping the previous evening. He did remember tilting a few back, and he did notice the headache that he had that morning. What he refused to notice, or rather planned to ignore for as long as possible, was that sooner or later he was going to have to talk to Mark. Sooner or later he was going to have to be near Stacy. He recalled the last time that he had treated Mark, and Wilson had warned him to stay away from Stacy. _Treat the husband,_ he had said, _but don't go near the wife_. It hadn't been possible then, and it certainly wasn't going to be possible now. He knew it when he had read her expression back in Cuddy's office. He had instantly remembered that look from a year ago, from that hotel room in Baltimore. He also remembered how he had felt then. He couldn't have described it with words, but he knew that it was something he didn't feel often. After he had sent her away, he never imagined he would have that feeling again.

At the same time, he was almost angry. She had come back after he had sent her away. Wilson seemed to sense disaster, as did Cuddy. It was so similar to past times, when she had first come for Mark. At the same time, it was different. They had an affair in their past now…that ice didn't need to be broken. He didn't have that strange desire to break that barrier this time, though, and he could not understand why. Last time all it took was the sight of her and he wanted to be with her. This time, he didn't know what he felt.

He realized then that it was because he had built a wall. Over time, the wall had become strong, and it only got stronger as he had been away from her longer. It had taken a while to begin building the wall. He recalled his need for a distraction, and self-induced a migraine to prove a point. Wilson had pointed out then that it was because he had sent Stacy away that he had needed to cause himself misery. That was why his leg had gotten worse. Well, that was Wilson's opinion. What did he have to say for his analysis of his best friend now that Stacy was back?

He was in his office, his feet resting on his desk. He had sent Cameron and Chase to do a Lumbar Puncture and an MRI, and Foreman to do clinic duty. He was left alone to wonder if he was making himself miserable this time.

The door swung open, and in walked Cuddy. She sighed, seemingly debating whether what she planned to say was a good idea or not. "How're you doin'?" she decided to ask, looking truly concerned.

"I'm fine."

"I can call another-"

"Seriously, I'm fine. I didn't know being pregnant made you deaf."

Cuddy ignored the comment, not even bothering to point put to yet again that she was not pregnant, and instead persisted. "Greg, I just wanted you-"

"What's going on?"

"What?"

"Never in your life have you called me Greg. Has Cameron been reading to you?" he asked, referring to the time that Cameron had insisted on calling them all by their first names to assert that she had an opinion and she did not wish to be 'dismissed'. Some book she had read had given her such a tip.

"What? No. I just…that's your name!" she exclaimed exasperatedly, for lack of a better answer. Why had she called him Greg? It just seemed to slip out, but certainly not out of habit. He was right, she _never_ called him Greg. She hated herself for her slip when he raised his eyebrows in that all-knowing manner. She sighed, defeated, and turned to leave.

"I hope junior's not such a bad liar!" he called after her as the door swung shut.

----

Cameron sat next to Chase in the observatory across from the MRI machine. They watched as Mark's feet disappeared into the cylindrical machine.

"House certainly seems to be taking it well. Stacy being back and all." Chase commented, knowing that he was going to start Cameron into a rant.

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why? It may not be like last time. He _could _finally realize that she is married." He knew that he was hitting a nerve, but he was curious to see what Cameron thought. She had her morals that she lived by. She was also interested in someone who couldn't have cared less about any of them. She denied her interest in him now, but Chase knew that she wasn't over him.

"It will be like last time. Maybe worse," she responded crossly, knowing in her heart her words were true.

"Worse? How do you mean-"

"I mean she may not leave this time."

Chase stared at her for a moment, the MRI machine running in the background. He raised his eyebrows at her sudden response. She was worried about Stacy being here, her influence on House. "What makes you think they aren't finally over each other?"

There was a long pause. Cameron had the answer to his query, she just did not wish to say it. Saying it aloud would make it so real to her, so much more of a guarantee than if she just kept her thought to herself. Nonetheless, it came time to answer him. She took a breath, and faced Chase. Her voice was shaky, and she was on the verge of tears. "Because people like that can't help it. They are meant to be together, it's how it has always been. Stacy is a lawyer; she wouldn't have let this happen to her if she could help it. She can't help it, though. That's what happened last time. She loves him. He loves her. They have no control over themselves, and House certainly isn't going to let the fact that she's married get in his way. Give it time."

Chase was silent. There was nothing else he wished to probe her about. He wasn't sure he had wanted to hear that much. He finished the MRI procedure, and Cameron followed him silently out of the room to help Mark up.

"What did it show?" he asked, clearly still irritated that he had to be there.

"Nothing definitive, but we'll let you know soon." Chase responded. They helped him back to his room. Chase saw that Cameron was crying silently as they left the patient room.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to David** **Shore. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.**

_Last Chapter: "What did it show?" he asked, clearly still irritated that he had to be there. _

"_Nothing definitive, but we'll let you know soon." Chase responded. They helped him back to his room. Chase saw that Cameron was crying silently as they left the patient room. _

----

House stared at the white board in his office, quite alone. They had nothing to go on. Several symptoms were scribbled on the board, disconnected and disproportionate. It was as though it was taunting him, the white board was showing him a puzzle that could not be put together. Not all of the pieces fit. He stood up, and limped over to it, as though staring at it more closely was going to help his cause. He picked up the eraser, and erased all the symptoms he had written up. The white board glared back at him, empty and answerless, in both puzzles he desired to solve.

The door swung open, and House turned in his chair to face Stacy. He looked at her for a moment, and then turned back around to face the board.

"So I hear you've been chasing seventeen year-olds." Stacy quipped humorously.

"Yeah. More like they've been chasing me." They were referring to the girl, Ali, who had been obsessed with House not long ago. It turned out that she had a spore starting in her brain, which had caused a severe lack of judgment. House couldn't say he wasn't disappointed.

"Was she from one of those Girls gone wild videos?" She continued, smirking at him. He could tell that she was trying to make this normal, make it easy. The atmosphere was tense, though, as the tries and tributes of the past hung heavily in the air. He still faced the white board, resting his chin on his cane.

"How's Mark?" he asked, trying to do the same as she and keep the conversation as low key and comfortable as possible.

"He's fine." Stacy sighed, realizing those words were not at all true. She also didn't seem to feel the need to reiterate, as House seemed to realize this as well. "How are you, Greg?"

"Better than ever," he said sarcastically. He knew it hurt her, that he was being so cold and unconcerned. She was trying hard to make this all work, and for some reason he felt inclined to make it as difficult as possible. He turned to face her finally, and saw her hurt look. He also saw how beautifully tragic she looked, the pleading sadness in her pretty brown eyes, the defeated posture in her beautiful form, the wavering strength in her face…he was instantly feeling guilty for his insensitivity, and yet he saw no other way. He didn't want to be hurt again.

"Greg." She walked over and sat in one of the chairs next to him. Tentatively she placed a hand on his knee, facing him with a sort of determination that was all too familiar to him. "Please, try to make this easy. I know it isn't, but maybe, if we both try, we can get through this."

He didn't exactly know what _this_ was. Getting Mark better? Somehow from the context he wasn't thinking that was what she meant. His sharp blue eyes gazed through her brown ones, and he realized that there were several meanings behind her words. He didn't speak as she rose to leave. He faced the empty white board again, and received no further answers. His eyes narrowed, and he stood and walked out of his office.

----

Cameron and Chase sat on either side of House, with Foreman across the table. They were seated in the hospital cafeteria, enjoying lunch that House had made Chase retrieve and pay for.

"Felty's Syndrome," House stated simply.

"What?" Cameron said, glancing and Foreman in confusion.

"Felty's Syndrome. Give me a pen and I'll spell it for you."

"No way," Foreman stated simply. "There'd be way more pain. Now he's only got some inflammation in a few joints. Not enough to be diagnosed as Felty's Syndrome."

"Rheumatoid arthritis, low white count. Symptomatic of Felty's." House retorted.

"Felty's patients usually present with an enlarged spleen," Chase intervened.

"His spleen is fine. We would've noticed-", Cameron began, but paused when she realized that they had done nothing that would have been indicative of an enlarged spleen.

"Look at his spleen, see if it's grown at all. Hello _Lisa_." House spoke the last bit with a mock sweetness as Cuddy approached. Cameron looked at him, and then to Cuddy, clearly confused by the use of her first name. "We slept together. Now we get to be on a first name basis. _Go_."

Cameron, looking startled, made her way to Mark's room. "How's the patient?" Cuddy asked, ignoring his previous comment.

"An ass." House responded, taking a bite of his sandwich. He grimaced and removed a pickle from between the slices of bread. "Remind me to cut Chase's pay in half."

"House, if you can't handle this case, I can refer him to another doctor in the area." He noticed how she made an effort to say 'House' this time. He also noticed how genuinely concerned she sounded.

"If I don't have to see him, then I'm fine. I don't have to deal with his bitchy _'oh your stealing my wife' _spews."

"Just don't do anything stupid," she said, knowing her words were completely useless. She sighed and walked away, watching from the corner of her eye as House removed a pill from the bottle he carried and popped it into his mouth. He was back on the cane. He was back on the vicodin. He was back with being in the same 100 miles as Stacy. Yet, he seemed better than he had in the past few weeks. And that worried her. It worried her a great deal.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to David** **Shore. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.**

_Last Chapter: "If I don't have to see him, then I'm fine. I don't have to deal with his bitchy 'oh your stealing my wife' spews." _

"_Just don't do anything stupid," she said, knowing her words were completely useless. She sighed and walked away, watching from the corner of her eye as House removed a pill from the bottle he carried and popped it into his mouth. He was back on the cane. He was back on the vicodin. He was back with being in the same 100 miles as Stacy. Yet, he seemed better than he had in the past few weeks. And that worried her. It worried her a great deal._

----

"Spleen's enlarged. 2cm larger in diameter," Chase reported the diagnostic information to his boss. House smiled wryly, and limped over to Chase to read the results over his shoulder.

"Start him on azathioprine and penicillamine. His symptoms should start to go away in a few hours."

Chase nodded and exited the door to the office swiftly. House sat in his chair, and tossed another vicodin into his mouth. He stared thoughtfully at his own ceiling. Having nothing medical to fill his brain, his thoughts turned to Stacy. He was confident that they had found the source of Mark's problems, and he hadn't even had to see him. It also meant that Stacy would be leaving again. What did he care? He had told himself that he intended not to care, but for some reason he had no control over the situation at all. Wasn't that what had happened before…in Baltimore…in bed? He couldn't help but grin to himself, but soon it faded. He was no longer in the past. He had been hurt because of that past. Thus he was brought to the somber present. His cobalt blue eyes gazed out the window of his office; though is thoughts were elsewhere.

----

Stacy gazed out the window of Mark's room, absentmindedly running her fingers up and down his arm. House had discovered what was wrong with him, just like she had asked. Now they would soon be able to return home, back to their normal lives. Why then, did she feel so devoid of just a little bit of happiness? Surely she should be pleased that Mark had a diagnosis that should take little time to cure. She looked over at Mark, sleeping quietly on the hospital's sterile bed. She ran her fingers over his hand, watching him sleep. The insomnia seemed to be going away. She hated herself for not feeling happy that they were on the way to being allowed to return home, that Mark would be okay. She felt so empty, though. What had she been expecting? Him to come crawling back, begging to be with her? _You're over that._ She told herself that often, though she failed to convince herself.

She stood up for a moment, deciding that she would go to get a bite to eat while he slept. She made her way down to the cafeteria, and got into line to order food. She spotted Wilson making his way to her, and she smiled.

"Hey."

"Hey. How are you doing?" Wilson asked, his voice full of authentic concern.

"Good. They think its Felty's Syndrome. The medication they're giving him seems to be helping."

"So they're just keeping him for observation now?"

"That's what they said."

"That's great!" Wilson said enthusiastically, now genuinely happy for her. Stacy simply glanced down at the trey of food she had gathered. Wilson observed her, and, obviously curious, questioned her. "Stacy?"

She didn't move for fear of resorting to tears. Instead she simply stared at her trey, and she heard Wilson sigh. He nodded, though, as he understood what she was thinking. She breathed, happy that she did not have to express exactly why she felt so horrible when she should be more than euphoric.

They ate a quiet lunch together. There was some small talk over cancer kids, of life at Short Hills, but there was no mention of Gregory House. Wilson was willing to talk about whatever she wanted to, but at the moment she seemed uninterested in discussing her old feelings that were beginning to return.

Wilson had just stood to empty their treys, when his pager went off. He glanced at it, and then looked, alarmed, at Stacy.

"It's Mark."

Stacy examined him with wide eyes. They both ran upstairs, rendering the steps faster than the elevator.

----

Stacy gasped as they reached his room. House's doctors were scurrying about, and Wilson ran in to join them. Feeling helpless, she watched from the glass. She knew that she would be told to leave as soon as she was to enter the room.

The machine that recorded Mark's vitals beeped angrily, getting faster and higher pitched each time. She ran her hands through her hair, and studied the action on the other side of the glass that she could not penetrate.

"Cardiac arrest. Its not Felty's." Stacy glanced over her shoulder to see that House had suddenly appeared. He was very close to her, only a few inches to her left.

"Paddles and Epi!" Cameron shouted from inside. Stacy turned to face the glass, daring herself not to say anything. The machine got faster, and she drew a deep breath.

Then there was a dull, monotonous tone that rang out. Every line on the machine that recorded vitals had gone flat. Stacy covered her mouth with her hands, clearly in shock. Tears, now unbridled and unable to be contained, traveled freely down her cheeks.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see House, still looking in the room, but stiffly showing his concern. Genuinely touched, she was surprised at how much more secure she suddenly felt. Her eyes were wide, and she could not bring herself to speak a word. However, as he gruffly gripped her shoulder, she felt as though everything would eventually be alright.

She stifled a sob as they reached for the paddles to attempt to restart Mark's heart. She felt House's grip on her shoulder tighten. Slowly, she lifted her right hand from her side. She reached up to grip the fingers of the hand that rest on her shoulder, and silently let the tears fall as try after try they attempted to restart Mark's still heart.


End file.
